


A Room of His Own (or not)

by Valinde (Valyria)



Series: Ten Trope Prompts [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Fallen Castiel, First Time, Frottage, Human Castiel, M/M, Season/Series 09, Sharing a Bed, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean took a deep breath and reassessed the situation. He was in bed with a guy, sure, and <em>technically</em>  they were snuggling, but it was <em>Cas</em>. The guy had absolutely no reference on what was appropriate physical contact between two dudes sharing a bed in the... normal, completely unsexy, no-funny-business, way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Room of His Own (or not)

 

It was nothing. Cas sure as hell didn’t seem to give a shit. He was snoring softly not 5 minutes after his head hit the - _Dean’s -_ pillow.

 _He_ wasn’t laying there worrying over - and painfully conscious of - every inch of space and not-space between them. (One of Cas’s feet was touching Dean’s shin. Every now and then it moved, Cas’s curled toes rubbing against Dean’s skin in a way that had no right to be so goddamn captivating.)

A few hours earlier, when Dean had opened his big stupid mouth and blurted out: “You can sleep with me tonight Cas. We’ll set you up with your own room tomorrow,” what he’d been thinking was that they’d have to clear out one of the dusty rooms, wash some sheets, probably go buy him a new duvet and pillow cause the ones that came with the place were pushing 60 and not exactly the kinda things you wanted to share a bed with. Completely logical, perfectly sensible reasons to offer to bunk with Cas. Sam had nodded along in agreement, asked if he needed one of his pillows or if he had a spare, and then that had been that. There hadn’t been anything weird about Dean’s suggestion.

He’d found something clean for Cas to sleep in, handed him a toothbrush, and then pushed him in the direction of the shower room. It was only then, when Sam had said his goodnights and wandered down the hall and he’d been left standing in his room looking at his bed, the _only_ bed in the room, that he realized exactly what he had done. Cas was _his_ friend though, sure he and Sam got along fine these days, but Dean felt a weird sense of responsibility over him, and it had just seemed like _he_ ought to be the one making sure he was comfortable, not Sam.

So he’d stuck his foot in it.

It was cool though. Cas was bleary-eyed and yawning, and really, sleeping beside each other in a bed was hardly the weirdest thing they’d ever done. Hell, Dean had cat-napped wedged between Cas and Benny when they’d been in purgatory, and he hadn’t freaked out over that. Cas wouldn’t see this as any different. Even though somehow it was.

Because Castiel was human now.

Because when he padded back into Dean’s bedroom with his hair still dripping and a pair of Dean’s boxers hanging too low on his hips, Dean felt the rigid control he’d had over…. Over the _thing_ between him and Cas crumbling. _Because Cas was_ _human._ He was just some regular living, breathing, _guy_ and he was pulling back the sheets on _Dean’s bed_ and _tucking himself in_ like he had every right, like he belonged there.

A yawn, a low: “Goodnight Dean,” and then Dean was left lying there in quiet terror. His current predicament.

Cas huffed in his sleep and rolled onto his back, flinging an arm out across the bed. Dean froze as it whacked him in the chest. Cas frowned in his sleep and then sort of grabbed at Dean a little, fisting the soft cotton of his shirt, and then his face smoothed out and his breathing deepened again.

It was nothing. Cas was just rolling around in his sleep a bit. Getting comfy. Totally normal. Dean gently prized his fingers from his shirt, meaning to set his hand down safely in between them, so they weren’t touching, so they were just two friends who happened to be sleeping pretty close to each other, but instead those fingers wriggled in his own and Dean found himself lying ramrod straight in bed, fucking _holding hands_ with Castiel.

 _“Fuck,”_ he whispered, staring up at his ceiling. He tried, he really did, to extract his hand from Castiel’s, but his friend grunted in his sleep and rolled on his side and then more or less _onto_ Dean, making the situation approximately 1000x more embarrassing.

Not only was he _still_ holding Cas’s hand, he now had the former angel burrowed against him, snoring softly against his bicep and with one warm, _(surprisingly muscular?),_ thigh thrown over his own. Dean lay very still for a minute, and then tried to gently push Castiel back, get him to roll over in the other direction, but all he got out of it was a muttered and distinctly pissed off: “Stop _moving Dean. I’m trying to sleep.”_

Dean licked his lips. “Cas?”

“Ugh.” Cas sounded disgusted. He lifted his head and glared at Dean in the darkness. “What?!”

Dean blinked, at a loss. He wasn’t sure how to explain that their current sleeping arrangements were closer to post-coital spooning than two dudes who just happened to be sharing a bed out of necessity. “Um…”

Cas rolled his eyes, growled; “Go to sleep,” then proceeded to wedge his face into the warm space between Dean’s arm and the mattress before - no shit – throwing an arm over his chest and _snuggling_ into him. He let out a contented sigh once he’d apparently arranged himself to his liking. “You’re so warm,” he muttered, sounding far less irritable, like Dean’s body heat was something he deserved praise for. And then managed to fall back asleep in what had to be 30 seconds or less.

Dean took a deep breath and reassessed the situation. He was in bed with a guy, sure, and _technically_ they were snuggling, but it was _Cas._ The guy had absolutely no reference on what was appropriate physical contact between two dudes sharing a bed in the... normal, completely unsexy, no-funny-business, way. Dean could wake Cas up now and have a mortifying conversation about 'personal boundaries' and 'touching' and why cuddling your best friend was a bit weird - _or_ he could put it off until the light of day, when he wouldn’t be sharing a bed with Castiel any time in the foreseeable future. Judging from Cas’s reaction to being woken up, if Dean tried to talk to him about it now, he’d probably either get punched or Cas would steal his blankets and find some other, less noisy, less Dean populated, place to sleep.

Satisfied that this was all firmly Castiel’s fault and that Dean had done all he could, he let his eyes droop closed. Cas was really warm and his damp hair smelled like Sam’s fruity shampoo. When Sam was younger they’d sometimes slept like this, when Sam had a nightmare or something. _This is just like that,_ Dean told himself. _This isn’t weird._

Years of sleeping with one eye open should have had Dean jackknifing awake and reaching for a weapon, but Castiel seemed to have some bizarre soporific effect on him, and he instead returned to the living very gradually. First he was aware of how _warm_ he was, just deliciously warm, and then he heard a moan, deep and low, and even though he should have been shocked to hear such a wanton noise coming out of his friend, the moment his brain identified Cas’s throat as its origin, it got tagged as ‘safe’ and ‘happy’ and promptly ignored.

The thing that actually jarred him to full awareness was tiny in the scope of what he awoke too – _wet_. He felt something _wet_ and _warm_ against his cock. He rocked into it instinctively, rolling his hips and digging his toes into the mattress, and then there was another of those shocked moans and Dean realized he could taste skin and salt and _Cas_ and suddenly his eyes were open.

In that instant that his brain came back online he was thinking, sort of amused, ‘ _Oh Cas’s having a wet dream,’_ except it turned out Castiel was wide awake and instead of being snuggled against Dean’s side where he’d left him, he was underneath Dean, hands fisted in the cotton of his shirt, bottom lip wet where he’d been biting at it. His shirt was pulled nearly off one shoulder and Dean could see where he’d been kissing or drooling along his collarbone, but that wasn’t what really shocked him, it was the persistent throb of his aching cock.

He’d been humping Cas in his sleep.

He thought he might die.

Dean’s body didn’t quite catch up with the humiliating circumstance quite as fast as his brain, and while Dean stared down at Cas in horror, his hips rolled in one last awful slow grind that had Cas’s breath stuttering and the hands clenched in Dean’s shirt twisting. Dean froze and opened his mouth to say ‘sorry’ or something as woefully inadequate for molesting your best friend in your sleep, when two things happened simultaneously. Cas said “Dean!” - all low and gaspy instead of smitey, and Dean realized that he could feel _Cas’s_ _dick_ digging into his hip like the proverbial ‘angel blade’ he’d given him shit about. He floundered for a moment, cause if Cas was enjoying this as much as Dean…

They stared at each other way too long for the whole mutual erection thing to be laughed off.

“…Cas?” Dean asked, fearfully, hopefully… _painfully_ aroused _._

Cas didn’t reply, just yanked Dean down with surprising strength and kissed him, his thighs lifting to bracket Dean’s thighs as he ground up against him with the sort of artless eagerness only a teenager or a millennia-old-mostly-virgin could manage to make sexy. The kiss was hardly a kiss at all, just their mouths pressed together, teeth and lips and harsh breaths shared, but it was _Cas - Cas’s_ lips soft and wet under Dean’s own, Cas’s hand twisted in his shirt, stretching the cotton out as he gripped Dean close like he was afraid he’d try and escape and –oh god – Cas’s dick grinding into him insistently.

Dean gave up trying to understand the situation and instead turned his head a little to the side and guided the mouth-mashing thing into something that could actually be called a kiss. Cas’s mouth was warm and he tasted like nothing save the lingering mint of toothpaste and he clearly had no idea what he was doing but it was still maybe the best kiss of Dean’s life. He sighed and relaxed, let his body settle more firmly onto Cas’s, let his hips join the desperate rutting thing the fallen angel had going on.

Cas moaned, low in his throat, as Dean demonstrated first-hand how amazing French kissing was. Cas appeared to agree, surging up into the kiss and emulating him, kissing Dean back exactly how he liked it. As with most things, Cas seemed to be a fast learner, which was good, because Dean couldn’t remember when he’d last been so turned on. His boxers were slick and wet against the head of his dick with how he much he was leaking and he was pretty certain that he could come just like this, trading frantic kisses and dry-humping his best friend like a sexually frustrated 17 year old at a sleep over or something.

They at least needed to get naked. He wasn’t gonna shoot his load in his shorts. Dean had _some_ standards. He leaned back and pulled off his shirt. Cas’s annoyed whine died as he realized what was happening and he gave Dean one of those amazed, adoring looks of his, like he was a genius, before he sat up and started tearing at his own clothes. It was almost funny, how desperate and graceless he was, except in a matter of seconds Dean had 6ft of naked horny fallen angel in his bed and without a ratty Metalica shirt and some faded boxers clinging to his hips, Cas didn’t look awkward and dorky at all. In fact he looked…

Dean swallowed, mouth dry.

It was dark in his bedroom – no light from a window or anything, just the faint glow from the hallway spilling in around the doorframe. In the faint light Cas was rendered more or less in black and white, soft lines of muscles and sharp lines of his jaw, his hip, his shoulders - sketched out in stark shadow. He was a little thinner than Dean liked to see – he’d spent a few weeks making is way to the bunker and he obviously hadn’t been eating properly - but he was still surprisingly muscular for someone who’d spent the last six years bundled in the same ill-fitting suit.

The lines of Enochian tattooed above his hip, his epic case of bed-head and the fact that had a hand wrapped around his leaking dick and was looking at Dean like he wanted to eat him or something, it all added up to an image that seared itself directly into Dean’s brain. Even if this ended horribly he knew that he was going to find guys with messy hair and blue eyes incredibly distracting from now until the day he died.

He must have spent too long admiring the view because Cas got impatient and the next thing Dean knew he was on his back and his boxers were getting yanked roughly down his legs. Cas tossed them aside carelessly and then just _looked_ at Dean, eyes skimming over him in a way that made him feel both incredibly self-conscious and somehow smug at the same time – cause Cas really seemed to like what he was seeing.

Cas touched him like he didn’t know how to touch another person. He gripped the blunt shape of his hipbone, pressed a hand to the tattoo over his heart, and then he wrapped his fingers around Dean’s dick and just _held_ him while he leaned down and kissed him seemingly at random. His ribs, the hollow dip at the base of his throat, his adam’s apple, the hinge of his jaw, the delicate skin of his cheek just below his left eye and his brow just above it until Dean pulled him back to his mouth and got those lips where he wanted them.

Cas wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t even jacking him off, was just kissing him and holding onto his dick with a sense of ownership like he might want to play with it later. It shouldn’t have been hot, but Dean could feel a fresh bead of precome sliding down the side of his cock, wetting Cas’s fingers and he couldn’t help but rock up into that grip even as he buried a hand in Cas’s hair and kissed him like that was the main event. He was laying on his back, hardly moving at all, but his heart was racing and he was breathless, could barely get enough oxygen in-between kisses.

Cas was rocking into again, his dick painting a wet smear against Dean’s belly, and even though Dean really wanted more – wanted to do _everything_ – this was good too, this kissing thing and all the touching, the weight of Cas on top of him and his skin warm and slightly sweaty and reassuringly real against him. He wriggled a hand in between them and managed with a little shuffling and squirming to get their dicks in hand, his fingers and the soft skin of his stomach giving them something more substantial to fuck against.

Cas broke from their kiss and pressed his face to Dean’s shoulder, practically whimpering, his dick dribbling all over Dean’s fingers in a way that made his stomach swoop in arousal. His hips jerked in uneven stuttering movements as he panted against Dean’s neck. He still had hand a hand down there, trapped between their bodies, and after a moment he slipped his fingers in with Dean’s, adding to the sweaty tunnel they were both rocking into.

What they were doing wasn’t really sex, was somewhere in between dry humping and a shitty wristie - painfully adolescent - but Cas was gasping and fucking desperately against him, bony hips writhing in the cradle of Dean’s thighs. It wasn’t really sex but it _felt_ like it, felt like some fundamental shift was occurring on a tectonic level inside Dean Winchester.

Cas was heavy on top of him, panting against his neck and his dick was hard and hot and _wet_ in Dean’s hand and he could smell them, salt-sweat and the tang of come, undeniably masculine and _gay_ and he _liked it._ It was good. So good. There was a naked man on top of him and Dean wouldn’t tap him out for a Busty Asian centerfold, instead he wrapped his legs around him and tried to pull him closer.

 _“Cas!”_ he said, because he was having some sort of late onset sexual epiphany and he needed to say _something._

In reply Cas pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the tendon in Dean’s neck, murmured his name _“Dean,”_ and scraped his teeth there and then sucked blood and heat into his skin. Dean arched his back and grabbed blindly at Cas’s ass, pulling him closer as he fucked up against him desperately. He wanted more, wanted to do this for real, wanted Cas _inside_ him, and it was that thought, the feel of Cas’s pistoning ass under his hand and the fact that all Dean would have to do would be slide his legs a little higher, tilt his hips up, and Cas could be _fucking him,_ that was what pushed him over the edge and had him jerking and pulsing wetly between them, Cas’s name drawn out and broken on his lips.

Cas kissed him, gasped his name into his mouth like he was shocked, and then with a few rough thrusts that had Dean sliding up the mattress, his dick was throbbing in Dean’s hand, adding to the sticky mess already there.

He didn’t move, he just sort of, collapsed onto Dean, heavy and warm and with fruity shampoo scented hair. Dean lay there, blinking, one hand on the small of Cas’s back the other in his hair, and tried, belatedly, to figure out what happened.

“I don’t need my own room,” Castiel murmured against his collarbone, intent and thoughtful.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah?” he asked.

Cas hummed his agreement and then shifted a little, getting comfortable like he was going to just go back to sleep right where he was. The cooling mess of come between them ruined the moment a little. “We may need fresh sheets however.”

 


End file.
